


(Fake) Dating at a Distance

by CallMeHux



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, fake dating au, pretty fluffy, soldier!bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7983019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeHux/pseuds/CallMeHux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clarke needs a fake boyfriend to keep Creepy Guy at work away from her, Octavia volunteers her brother.  Whom Clarke despises.  Or does she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Fake) Dating at a Distance

**Author's Note:**

> I have never attempted the Fake Dating trope before so I apologize if I don't really get it right. I hope you like it all the same.
> 
> This was intended for the Delinquent Fic Exchange, but my fic recipient changed and now I'm writing a new one for that person, but that was why this was posted anonymously at first.

Clarke's life, in an unusual turn of events, had been going so well lately.  She'd made the crazy decision to move to Colorado Springs, thanks to the living hype-machine that was local Octavia Blake, her old college buddy.  Faster than she had thought possible, she had found a job in the graphics department of a pharmaceutical company and a cute little ranch house to rent that was literally on Easy Street.

Seriously, her new address was Easy Street!

In addition to the generous living room, it had an expansive backyard and huge covered patio, so she could entertain or sit outside even when it was raining.  With three bedrooms, she also had a dedicated studio as well as a guest room, so she could keep her art mess contained and have a place to put up guests, like Raven and her mother, that she badgered into visiting.

Really, three months into her new life in a different part of the country, Clarke was doing great.  She had Octavia and her boyfriend Lincoln, and new work friends, Monty and Jasper, and Octavia's friends whom she'd become friendly with, Harper and Monroe.  Work was going well, she'd put together some really satisfying pieces in the last month on her own and she felt good about the direction of her life for the first time since her awful senior year in college when she'd lost her father and Wells and been betrayed by Finn.

So of course _something_ had to go wrong.

That something was Tom.

Tom transferred from their Wilmington office, which the company recently closed.  He was one of the hundred or so employees deemed too necessary to layoff and were instead moved to Colorado.  Clarke met him, along with several other transfers, when their boss took him around all the offices to meet everyone in their department.

Tom seemed to take an instant liking to Clarke, one that moved well past work-friendship into a creepy territory in less than a week.  He always found a reason to wander by her desk and try to make conversation, regardless of what Clarke was doing.  

And it got worse when Tom found out that Clarke was a soccer fan.  She considered herself a knowledgable but casual fan, her love of the sport having come from her father.  She followed the progress of the national teams and watched her beloved Chicago Fire, feeling the presence of her father every time.  Clearly, she didn't get her love of the game from her mother.

Now that Tom knew they had something in common that wasn't work, he would constantly bring up soccer in their conversations.  Not that they really were conversations.  Clarke rarely could even finish a sentence around Tom, who'd interrupt her even if he was agreeing with what she was saying.  It was like he was so desperate to be thought of as smart, he couldn't wait to show her immediately.

Of course, it had the opposite effect.

Nor was it the only rude thing he did.  Once, she'd been talking with Monty and Jasper, discussing the graphics they wanted to put into a new drug's brochure to demonstrate its effects when Tom walked over and began speaking as if no one else had been talking.  He complimented Clarke's outfit, talked about his own project for a minute, then dropped a soccer fact before wandering away to their collective stunned disbelief.

To say nothing of his habit of monopolizing conversation and then joking about how she was talking his ear off.

Or his determination to find her wherever she managed to go for lunch, be it the break room, the cafeteria, the picnic tables out back or even her desk.  And nothing seemed to deter him.  Not when Clarke would say she had work or when he found her wearing her earphones and reading a book.  No matter what, Tom would plop down nearby and start talking.

There didn't seem to be anything to do about it either.  He never responded to her saying politely but firmly she needed to get work done, or that she was busy.  Clearly, he was someone valued by the company, since they paid for him to move out there, so she didn't feel like a complaint would be taken seriously.  And what would she even say?  That he talked to her a lot?  He never said anything inappropriate.  He was just there all the time, which since his office was only fifteen feet from her desk, was hardly a complaint she could make to HR.

Nearly a month into being stalked by Tom around the office, Clarke found herself staring down at her packed sandwich at her desk and wondering if she needed to start looking for another job when he pulled up a chair with his own lunch in hand.

"Mind if I join you?  Great!"  As typical, he didn't wait for her response.

Somehow or other, he begun talking about his fraternity days and how, gentleman that he was, when he found out his frat brother had been interested in a girl first, he backed off. Because of course, to him, guys could call "dibs" on women. In the middle of this story about how Tom was such a good, upstanding guy, it occurred to her.

Tom would never pursue a woman he thought was some other guy's girl.

And as sexist and demeaning as it was, Clarke knew there was one way she could get him to stop.  Before she really made a conscious decision, she found herself blurting out-

"Yeah, my boyfriend's like that.  Always thinking about others."

Tom froze, eyes going a little wide.  But he recovered quickly.  "Oh?  You don't mention him much."

Clarke shrugged nonchalantly and took another bite of her sandwich to hide her grin. Inwardly, she thrilled at his reaction.   When her mouth was clear, she said, "It's not very professional to moon about your boyfriend at work, you know?"

She glanced at him, seeing his face fall a bit as he nodded.  "Oh completely understand.  You, ah, been dating long?"

"Oh, sometimes it feels like no time at all," Clarke answered.   _Since he doesn't exist_.  "Other times, it feels like forever."

"Sure sure," Tom replied, setting down his own sandwich and getting to his feet.   "You know, I just remembered, I wanted to finish up a report before this afternoon's meeting.  See you around, Clarke."

"Goodbye, Tom," she replied, flashing him a smile and then turning back to her work.  

Over the course of the next month, she settled back into the rhythm of her job, happy that Tom had begun to treat her like everyone else in the office.  She only ran into him occasionally in the break room, he stopped dropping by her desk at all hours and she managed to have lunch again without his constant interruptions.

Sure, once in awhile, Tom would ask, "How's your boyfriend?"

And she'd always reply, "Oh, he's great."

Still, work went back to be relatively pleasant until the day she went into the conference room for the monthly meeting.  As she settled into a seat, Tom walked in beside their department head, Darryl.  The two men were chatting amiably and they greeted Clarke before sitting down.   

As they waited for the rest of the attendees to trickle in, Tom tapped the writing pad in front of him with his pen and smiled at Clarke.  "How's the boyfriend?"

Clarke blinked.  "Uh, he's fine, thanks."

"You have a boyfriend?  I would never know," Darryl commented, leaning back in his seat and beaming paternally at her.  He was in the later part of middle-age, with that salt and pepper look and lots of laugh lines etched into his face.  "You don't have any pictures up at your desk."

"Uh, well, I didn't want my desk to look anything but professional," she stammered an answer.

"Oh, nonsense.  A picture or two makes a desk looked lived in," Darryl enthused.  "Feel free to bring in a photo for your desk on Monday.  No one would think anything of it."

Clarke glanced at Tom, whose friendly expression hadn't changed.

"Uh, thank you."

"Of course!  We want you to feel comfortable here."

She swallowed the sharp retort that immediately sprang to her mind and nodded, murmuring another thank you.

Clarke complained about the entire situation the next day at Octavia's apartment, where they were both lounging on the couch with some wine while waiting for Lincoln to get back with the takeout.  Although he was an excellent chef, everyone understood that he needed nights off from cooking for himself now and again.

"So now I need a guy's picture and pretend he's my boyfriend," she finished.  "And I was thinking, maybe I could use Lincoln's."

Octavia just laughed, sitting up slightly so she didn't spill her drink.  "Oh, no dice, my friend.  I love you like a sister, but I am not sharing Lincoln."

"You don't have to share him!  I just need his picture.  I wouldn't actually need to go out on dates with him," Clarke quickly denied.  

Octavia shook her head.  "I don't think that's true.  Because if it was, you could just pull some random dude's photo from the Internet and pretend that was your boyfriend."

"No, I don't do that because that's appropriation of someone else's work that I'd be using in a way that in no way could be considered fair use."  Clarke's nod punctuated her sentence.  "You should know better!"

"Right right," her friend smiled.  "You were definitely the best part of the whole Media and the Artist class."  It was where the two had met in Clarke's junior and Octavia's sophomore year.  "You were so into it, it was great."

"And I'm serious about that.  I would never steal someone else's photo for a 'I need to trick my creepy co-worker into thinking I have a boyfriend' scheme," Clarke added firmly before sagging in her seat.  

If she wasn't allowed to use Lincoln's photo, she wasn't sure what she was going to do.  The only photos of guys she owned were either group shots, or shots of her with Wells, whose memory she would not insult by using this way.  

"Okay, I hate to ask this, but what about a photo of an old boyfriend?  Like, um, Finn?" Octavia suggested.  "If you're so concerned about the property rights of the photo."

Clarke actually chuckled without humor.  "Destroyed all of those shots or deleted them all in a fight of rage about a week after I found out I was the other woman," she admitted.

"Good for you," Octavia complimented and they clinked glasses in a show of solidarity.

After they each took a large gulp of wine, Octavia looked around her living room.  When her face lit up, Clarke suspected she wasn't going to like what was going to come out of her mouth.

"A photo belongs to the person who took it, right?"

"I'm glad you remembered that, at least," Clarke grudgingly admitted.

Octavia flashed her a smile over her shoulder and set down her wineglass before bounding over to the bookcase.  She pulled one of the framed photos from the shelf and presented it to her friend with a flourish.  "I grant you permission to use this," she intoned solemnly, the effect of which was totally negated by her grin.

Clarke gingerly took the picture, setting her own glass down first, and looked down at the smiling face of Octavia's older brother, Bellamy.  

"You have got to be kidding."

"Why not?  I own this photo.  I took it and everything!  And it's framed, so you can pop it on your desk at work, no problem!" Octavia flopped on the couch with a huff.  "It's perfect!"

"What?  In what universe?" Clarke wondered.  "Did you forget the one and only time he and I were in the same room?"

Both had attended Octavia's graduation and their initial meeting had been polite enough, though both of them seemed a bit wary of each other.  Clarke remembered thinking that what Octavia said about him was true - cocky, a bit overbearing, but caring and certainly attractive - and wondering what her friend had said about her to make him eye her like he had.  

After sitting through the graduation ceremony, Bellamy and Clarke had soon locked horns at the dinner that followed.  Clarke had scoffed at his failure to make reservations and used her mother's connections to score them a table on a Saturday night in the city at the kind of fancy place she knew Octavia had wanted to try before she left Chicago.  He'd retaliated by commenting snidely about Clarke's privileged background, and it degenerated from there.  

He'd called her "Princess" for the entire evening and mocked, well, pretty much everything about her life, growing up with both family money and a mother who was a prominent surgeon.  She'd fired back at him, criticizing his way of meddling in Octavia's life even when she had been away at school in a different city.  They argued about the quality of the restaurant and when Clarke said she'd pay if he hated the meal so much, they'd had another argument.

They even left the restaurant while still bickering.  Finally, Clarke had left in a huff before she ruined her friend's graduation weekend completely, adding just one more jab to her brother before hailing a cab.

"I'm pretty sure the last thing I ever said to your brother was, 'Good luck trying to find someone to put up with you who's not related to you,'" Clarke protested.

"I think there were a few more swears in there, but yeah, something like that," Octavia agreed, crawling back into her seat and folding her legs under herself.  "But you're not trying to _date_ him.  You're trying to fake date him so Creepy Guy and your Too Involved Boss back off."  She retrieved her wine as she spoke.  "Not like you could date him.  He's still in Germany with his unit."

"What's with his hair in this photo?" Clarke asked, looking over Bellamy's smirking face.  At least he was wearing the expression she most associated with him, both from their one meeting and all of Octavia's stories about him.

"I know, it's not right.  He looks better with longer hair, but he's in the Army so he has to keep it shorter.  Then it grows out a bit and just when it's starting to look right, bam, he has to cut it again.  Sucks," Octavia agreed, peering at the picture.  "But hopefully that'll all be over soon."

"Is he seriously going to leave the Army?"

"I don't know," Octavia admitted with a sigh.  "He says he's pretty much done, but I know he's thinking about signing up for a new term.  When his contract is up, he's going to have ten years in and it's kind of the break point.  Either he gets out now, or he stays for another ten years.  Might as well get the retirement benefits for being in for twenty years.  But I don't think he wants to.  It's just that he doesn't know what else to do."  She smiled fondly.  "Well, beyond get a degree in ancient history, because that's so useful."

"Says the girl with a degree in art history."

"That just proves that I know what I'm talking about.  I'm lucky that I found the job at Indra's, teaching classes and running her second studio for her.  I don't know what Bell could do with an ancient history degree."  Octavia made it sound so distasteful.

Clarke took a big sip of her wine.  "As someone with the _eminently_ useful Visual Arts degree who is still gainfully employed, let me just say there are all sorts of jobs out there.  And yeah, they can be hard to find but they're there.  He could be a teacher, or a...tutor or a….professor…"  She shrugged.  "Okay, so I don't know what he could do, but I'm sure there's _something_ out there for him."

Octavia started giggling.  "Yeah, his ancient history degree is sounding better all the time," she teased playfully.  "Anyway, it's his decision but I hope he gets out.  We've been lucky, he's been stationed here, basically except for deployments, his whole time in and that's pretty rare.  I don't think we'll keep being so lucky if he stays in longer and, as annoying and overbearing as he can be, I miss him," she finished somewhat glumly.  

Setting aside the wine and the picture, Clarke slid over the couch to give her friend a reassuring hug.  "He's going to be home soon.  With his stupid smirky face, annoying you live right in your living room," she said, trying to inject some levity back into their conversation.

"Thanks," Octavia chuckled, letting her head rest against Clarke's.  "I need that reminder."  She straightened after a moment, reaching for the wine bottle for a refill.  "Anyway.  Back to the point of all this.  Just use his picture."

Clarke pulled a face, glancing at the framed photo once more.  "If I do," she began.  "Bellamy can't ever know about it.  I'm sure he'd just…"  She trailed off, shuddering.

"You know, even when he's in town doesn't mean you have to ever hang out with him," Octavia noted dryly.

"That's so not true.  There will be your birthdays.  And the day you finally buy a house with Lincoln.  And when you marry Lincoln.  And when you have babies with Lincoln.  I'm pretty sure I'm going to run into him those times.  I don't want this to be grist for his mill for the next couple of decades."

Octavia beamed happily, clearly thinking about the future home and family she would have with Lincoln.  "Yeah…," she replied dreamily before flushing and laughing.  "I won't tell him.  Just use the picture, get permanently away from Creepy Guy so I don't have to keep hearing about it, okay?"

Clarke took a breath, considering her options of which there were two.  Take the picture and continue the charade.  Or do nothing, and look like a huge idiot at work.

"Okay," she said.  "I'll use his picture."

 

* * *

 

Although it took a few days to get used to working at her desk with a picture of her friend's asshole older brother smirking at her, Clarke was pleased at how well the ruse worked.  If anything, Tom actively avoided her desk now, returning her work station to a nice little oasis in the middle of the busy department.  After a few weeks, she barely even noticed it was there anymore.

Until the day Jasper had to open his big, fat mouth.

Monty and Jasper were trailing her back to her desk after a rundown of the latest marketing designs for the company's newest antacid drug.  For a moment, conversation had turned to Jasper's upcoming third date with a girl from his apartment building named Maya and he was, to put it mildly, freaking out.

"I'm just not even sure what to do!"

"Cook her dinner," Monty suggested for the third time.  

"No!  I'll blow up the kitchen again.  I am not to be trusted in a kitchen," exclaimed the chemist.  "I want to do something nice, because you know, this is the _third date_."

Clarke tried to restrain her smile and failed, settling for ducking her head quickly as she slipped into her seat.  "Okay, so you wanted to see a mock-up with slightly different colors…," she began, already using the mouse to open the right files.

"Where do you usually go with your boyfriend on a big night?" Jasper wondered.  When she gave him a startled glance, he motioned to the picture of Bellamy.

"Where do..oh!  Um, he can cook, so yeah, he cooks," she belatedly recalled Octavia complimenting her brother's culinary skills.  Her imaginary boyfriend's hobbies and mannerisms were essentially Bellamy's own because she hadn't expected all the questions people constantly came up with.

Jasper huffed.  "Well then where's the last really nice place he took you?" he asked as Tom walked up to drop off the latest department deadline sheet.  

"Talking about date nights?" he asked, looking way more interested than Clarke thought he had any right to be.

With the attention of the three suddenly focused on her, she cleared her throat.  "We haven't gone anywhere in a long while.  He's, uh, deployed right now."

Jasper blinked.  "Oh.  Sorry about that."

"It's okay," she told him, watching as Tom blanched.

"I had no idea your boyfriend was a soldier," Tom began.  "You never said."  He was almost accusatory.

Clarke shrugged, annoyed that so much of her professional time was spent talking about her imaginary boyfriend who had Bellamy's picture and his characteristics because she was too lazy to think of a new personality for him.  "I, uh, don't like thinking about how he's away, so yeah."

Monty's face contorted in sympathy.  "It must be rough.  When's he due home?"

"Next month."  Octavia was practically counting the days so Clarke knew that much at least.

"Ah, Tom, there you are," boomed Darryl as he walked up to the group.  "I want to pull you in on this meeting about the cancer-treatment drugs."

"Of course.  Clarke was just telling us her boyfriend's due home from deployment soon," Tom relayed, to Clarke's surprise.

"Is that so?" Darryl immediately pounced on the information.  "My son serves!" he declared, smiling at Clarke.  "I had no idea your young man was in the service.  Which branch?"

"Army," she admitted in a small voice, a sliver of dread piercing her.  

"Ah-ha, I knew it!  I knew there was a reason a sharp young cookie like yourself left Chicago for Colorado.  Not that we aren't thrilled to have you here, but it all makes so much more sense!"

Clarke stewed in her chair, infuriated that her boss thought that she'd moved to Colorado Springs to be closer to her boyfriend stationed at Fort Carson.  She marveled at the misogyny of the world, in which it just could not be true that a young woman moved to a new town because it sounded like a good place to live and she wanted to strike out on her own.  It just _had_ to be because of a boy.

"Well, I look forward to meeting him at the department picnic next month!  But, back to work," he continued, oblivious to Clarke's thoughts.

She was so angry, in fact, that it took her almost ten minutes after she'd been left alone at her desk to realize what had just happened.

Her boss expected her to bring her boyfriend, Staff Sergeant Bellamy Blake, to the picnic next month.

With a groan, she reached for her phone.   Maybe Octavia would be able to think of a solution to this latest problem.

 

* * *

 

"I'm sorry, this is hilarious!"

"It's not hilarious!  I can't break up with a just returning soldier and not look like a total asshole to my boss, whose beloved son is in the Army too!  Which is the only reason why I wouldn't show up with him when he's been explicitly invited!  Which means I-"  Clarke cut herself off as she paced in her living room on Saturday afternoon.  She couldn't even say it.

"It's a little bit hilarious," Octavia continued, holding her fingers out about an inch apart and smirking.  Her traitorous friend was sprawled out in her overstuffed sage green armchair, with one leg hooked over the side.  

"Octavia.  I don't think you realize what this _means_."  She stopped pacing to stare at her friend.

"It means you have to ask my brother to pretend to be your boyfriend at your company picnic?"

Clarke glowered at her and resumed wearing out the floor.  "Yes!  And that's….ah, he's going to laugh at me, and he's going to make fun of me, and I'm never ever going to hear the end of it.  And he'll say no too, and I'm just _screwed_."

Octavia gave her a pitying look.  "He wouldn't say no.  Bellamy literally lives for saving other people's asses and this would be a pretty big save.  Especially because it's all due to Creepy Guy."

Clarke paused again in surprise, her skirt whirling slightly as she turned.  "Really?  You think he'd say yes?"

"Yup.  So, I think, you should ask him."  Octavia added a grin then.  "Especially because your only option other than coming clean is to admit to your boss that Bellamy's just your crush and you've been imagining a relationship with him this whole time."

Clarke grabbed one of the throw pillows from the couch to chuck at her.  "I don't think so!"

Octavia easily grabbed the projectile and stuffed it behind her back.  "So you gotta ask him."

Wincing with distaste, Clarke sat down on the edge of the couch.  "How do you even compose an email asking someone to be your fake boyfriend when he gets back in the country?  What subject line would I even use?  'Re: Fake Boyfriend Proposition.'"

Giggling, Octavia shook her head.  "First, I guess I'm glad I don't ever get emails from you if you title non-work emails like that.  Second, this is clearly a face-to-face ask.  We should Skype him."

"We?" Clarke asked, both hopeful and full of dread.

"Of course!  I wouldn't abandon you at a time like this," Octavia replied, pulling her legs from the arm of the chair and sitting up straight.  "Or miss you asking him this for the world, honestly."

Clarke snorted, then looked puzzled when Octavia immediately popped to her feet.  

"Okay, where's your laptop?"

"What, _now_?" Clarke squeaked, glancing at the makings of the margaritas on the kitchen counter she'd promised her friend to make sure Octavia came over.  She wasn't drunk enough to call him immediately.

"Yeah.  With the time difference, if we hurry, we might catch him while he's still up."  Spotting Clarke's laptop on the kitchen table, she pulled it into the living room and set it up on the coffee table.  

"Um, yeah okay."  Without much in the way of options, Clarke figured that it was like ripping off a band-aid.  Better to do it quick, before you got too anxious about it.  As Octavia logged Clarke out of Skype and logged herself in, Clarke ran a hand over her hair to smooth it down, then straightened her skirt.  Might as well look her best for this likely humiliation.

She sat down on the couch next to Octavia, looking over her shoulder as she typed out a message to her brother.

 

_You still up?_

 

They waited only a few seconds before the three dots appeared in the text window.  Eventually, they saw his reply.

 

_yeah whats up_

 

_You remember my friend Clarke?  She's here with me and needs to ask you a favor.  I told her you wouldn't be a jerk about it._

 

_tell her send nudes_

 

"What the hell?" Clarke demanded, her blood immediately boiling.  As little as she expected of Bellamy in the manners department, she did not expect outright repulsive behavior.

Octavia seemed just as surprised, immediately hitting the call button.  "I have no fucking clue what he thinks he's doing, but he's about to get my foot up his ass!"

It took almost a minute but eventually Bellamy picked up and a few seconds later, the image resolved.  Clarke watched as his profile came into view, with the sound showing up two seconds after that.

"-get out of here, Murph!"  He turned and smiled at the screen.  "Hey, O."  He peered, then added more cautiously in his unfairly nice baritone, "Oh, hi Clarke.  Uh, how come you're calling?"

Under the harsh lighting of his room and with the glare of the screen in front of him, Bellamy seemed a little washed out, compared to Clarke's memory of him.  His black hair was still fairly short, though not in an Army-style buzz.  Unfortunately, her gaze was immediately drawn to the way his shoulders and arms strained against his military-issue brown t-shirt.  

Glumly realizing that he hasn't grown less physically attractive in the two years since she'd seen him, she slumped slightly in her seat.   He was going to be insufferable, she just knew it.

Octavia blew out a breath in frustration.  "Well, it was to yell at you for asking Clarke to send nudes, but now I see Murphy was just being a jerk," she told him.

Bellamy frowned, eyes darting to the side as he examined the chat window.  "Fuckin' Murphy," he groused.  "But you should've known it wasn't me!  I use punctuation!"

Octavia turned a grin on Clarke.  "See?  He's more annoyed that I thought he'd write something grammatically incorrect than anything else.  Total teddy bear."

"Am not," Bellamy grumbled, voice somehow dropping lower.  He glanced at his screen again.  "What's this favor?  I don't have a lot of room in my bag so I can't bring back something big from Germany," he warned.

"I'll let Clarke explain," Octavia answered, then gestured for Clarke to say something.

She cleared her throat, deciding to look at the camera head on.  Better just get this over with, that's what she'd decided.

"I uh, was wondering, if you'd, uh, go to my department picnic when you came back next month, uh, with me, that is.  And uh, pretend to be my boyfriend," she finished in a rush.  "I kind of said that you were because-"

"What?"  Bellamy could not have sounded more surprised or disbelieving if he tried.

Clarke blinked.  That wasn't the straight out laughter she'd expected.  "Um, well, long story short, I had this like, work stalker person.  He just was around all the time, and I couldn't even eat lunch by myself, but he was all about 'dibs' for girls or whatever gross thing, so I said I had a boyfriend.  And then my boss found out that I had a boyfriend and encouraged me to bring in a picture to 'personalize' my desk and then found out you were in the military and he's an Army dad and basically wants to meet you and would you do it?  I would, uh, obviously owe you massively."

As she raced through her explanation, which sounded so fucking ridiculous out loud she couldn't quite believe she'd gotten into this mess, she watched him carefully.  In the course of the minute or so that she had been talking, his expression changed from confused to indignant to understanding.

She'd never really noticed before, in that one awful night, how expressive his face really was.

"So, what, just go with you to this picnic thing?" he asked carefully.  "What day is it?"

"It's the next Saturday after you get back.  Not that weekend, but the next," Clarke admitted apologetically.  

She watched as he rubbed the side of his neck and then finally nodded.  "Yeah, sure.  I can do that."

"Really?"  The word left her mouth before she thought.

He huffed.  "Yeah, I mean, that's no big deal, right?  Make nice, let that creep know you're off limits since he doesn't know how to behave like an actual man, and that's it.  It's not like lying to your mother or anything."

Clarke could feel both of her eyebrows drifting ever higher in surprise as well as the heat of Octavia oh-so-smug grin next to her.  "Thanks, Bellamy.  I really appreciate it.  And like I said, I would totally owe you one."

Never in her wildest dreams did she expect it would be this easy.

"No, you don't owe me," Bellamy answered, once again surprising her.  "Happy to help make your life a little easier," he added, and she could have sworn he blushed.

Probably just the connection.

"I knew you'd help her out, big brother.  That's why I gave her your picture in the first place.  You spent pretty much all of my high school years warning off the creeps from me, so I knew you'd want to help her out," Octavia cut in.  

Oh, well, when she put it that way, Clarke immediately understood why he didn't have a problem with her scheme.  He had raised a very attractive younger sister and was just used to having to do things to warn off guys being inappropriate.  

"Thank you," Clarke said again.  "Really."

"Yeah, no problem."  Bellamy gave her a short nod.

Clarke was relieved when Octavia took over the rest of the conversation, catching up with her brother and prodding him to pick out something to eat for his welcome home dinner.  While he relaxed some, pointing out he was in Germany and not Iraq or Afghanistan, and thus had access to pretty much everything, he promised he'd tell her as soon as he thought of something good.

Watching the siblings, Clarke wondered at how she'd missed their easy dynamic when she'd last seen them together.  Probably because she was too busy picking fights with him over his pissy attitude.  But, she recalled, she'd been so caught up in their arguing, she didn't even notice that Octavia hadn't really fought with him at all.  And Octavia never complained about her graduation; she only grinned every time Clarke wrinkled her nose when she mentioned her brother.

After a moment, she quietly excused herself to give them some time to chat in private while she set up margaritas.  Instead of needing alcohol to think of a solution or as liquid courage, they'd be celebrating the near-end of her work problem over cocktails.

As she poured some ice into the blender, she thought over how easily the situation had been resolved.  Bellamy had agreed with really minimal persuasion, contrary to her expectations, but apparently exactly in line with Octavia's.  

Maybe she didn't know Bellamy Blake as well as she thought.

 

* * *

 

Without the immediate concern of her fake boyfriend issue, Clarke resolved to put it out of her mind for at least the rest of the weekend.  She planned to get some good time in working in her little studio on Sunday.  But when she got up in the morning, her motivation was completely lacking and found herself instead lounging on the couch watching a marathon of _Law and Order_ with her laptop on her legs, reading random articles on the internet.

Detective Lenny Briscoe had just delivered yet another pithy statement on the perils of matrimony when a little notification window popped up.

 

 **bbblake9** wants to add you as a contact

 

Clarke scrambled into a sitting position and stared at the screen nervously.  There was no question as to who "bbblake9" was, but she wasn't sure why he felt the need to contact her.  Maybe it was to tell her that he would absolutely not participate in her little scheme, now that his sister wasn't watching.  

But, she realized, she would obviously tell Octavia he'd reneged and she would read him the riot act about it.

And she could hardly refuse to talk to the man who had agreed to be her fake boyfriend.

After another ten seconds worth of uncertainty, she hesitantly clicked on the allow button.

At first, nothing happened and she relaxed.  But then her computer chirped with the familiar boops of the Skype ring, from one Bellamy Blake.

Thanking herself for not being too lazy to change out of her pajamas, and after a quick glance down at her University of Chicago t-shirt to make sure she hadn't spilled any coffee on it, she clicked on the camera icon to answer the call then grabbed for the remote to silence the TV.

Clarke was still combing her fingers in her hair when the image of Bellamy resolved.  He was sitting once again in front of his computer, but this time he was wearing only a grey tank top that showed her exactly how defined his arms really were.

It was a little distracting, to be honest.

"Hey Clarke," he began.  She thought she imagined the slight waver of nervousness in his voice and convinced herself she was projecting.

"Hi, Bellamy.  What's up?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound odd even though she just realized she'd never spoken to him without Octavia close by.

"Look, it occurred to me if I'm going to, uh, play your boyfriend, I might need to know what you've told people about me so I don't contradict anything you've said.  And, uh."  He stopped and took a deep breath.  "I also wanted to say sorry, for ah, arguing with you so much at my sister's graduation.  I was being a jerk, and-"  He paused and winced.  

"Basically, I get very tense and weird when my sister goes through big life moments.  High school graduation, going off to college, you know.  And usually I end up picking a fight with her, but that time, I guess I picked one with you and kept it up so I wouldn't fight with her, and I'm sorry.  Which is why you don't owe me a favor because the way I saw it, I owed you.  I was gonna say something when I got back, now that you're local, but."  He shrugged.

To say she was surprised was an understatement.  Maybe astonished.  Yeah, this felt like astonishment.  But she was also, god damnit, charmed.  

Bellamy Blake was unfairly handsome and charming.  And her fake boyfriend.

"Oh. Well, yeah, okay.  Thank you for apologizing and thank you for doing this," Clarke responded when she could find her voice.  He seemed to sag a bit in relief and nodded at her.

"So about that stuff you said about me?" he prompted, seemingly anxious to hear what kind of part he'd have to play.

Clarke blinked, then shrugged.  "I'm a terrible liar so basically I just told them really vague stuff about you or stuff I knew was true?  I think the only thing I've said about you is that, uh, well, you exist for one."  She chuckled ruefully as she held up a finger as she began to count off all the specifics she could remember.  "Two, you're in the Army.  Three, you're coming back next month.  Oh, and four, that you'd never hit on a woman who you knew was with another guy."

"I don't have a fake name?"

She quickly shook her head, then wrinkled her nose about her own lack of planning.  "I'm really shit at this.  I guess I completely didn't think any of this through.  I didn't have a name for you or invent a backstory or anything.  So at least you don't have a lot to live up to?"

"Okay.  Well, honestly, that's not bad.  At least I can be me," Bellamy told her, leaning back in his chair.

"Yeah, that's not bad at all," she retorted sarcastically before putting her hand over her mouth.  "I'm so sorry," she began, when she took her hand away.  "I..uh, it was just such a natural set-up-"

Bellamy had looked stunned for a moment, then began to laugh.  "No, I kind of walked into that one.  No offense taken."

"Thanks," she answered, giving him a chagrined smile.

"So you're sure that's all you've said about me?"

Clarke glanced over to the TV as she thought it through then frowned.  "Um, my boss thinks I moved here for you, but he just thinks that.  I never said that," she emphasized.

Bellamy snorted.  "Yeah, you definitely don't seem the type to move for a guy."

"Well, I mean, if I was in love, yes, I would move to be closer to someone I was in love with," she stressed, abruptly annoyed that he might think she would not do that.  "Why wouldn't I?"

"Why would you?  Why wouldn't he?  She?  Right, O said you were.. Yeah, I don't see the whole thing about why you would be the one moving," he agreed.  "Well, unless it was, ah, me, because well, I can't move."

"You can't move right now.  But your deployment is up and your contract is up soon and then you could move.  So what would be the point of me coming here if you could be moving to Chicago soon anyway," she immediately found the hole in his argument.

Bellamy seemed to twitch, then a slow smile spread on his face.  "Are we arguing about something that we fundamentally agree about and is also pretty irrelevant?" he wondered.

Clarke flushed, bowing her head.  When she looked back at the camera, she acknowledged sheepishly, "Yeah, maybe.  Old habits, right?"

"Well, we've clearly been 'dating' long enough to have old habits," he commented wryly, putting his arms on the desk and leaning forward.  "So let's nail down some details here, if you don't mind.  That way I can practice the lie before I have to live it in a month," he suggested.  "Oh, if you have the time right now."

"It's Sunday afternoon and I'm watching a _Law and Order_ marathon, so yeah, totally a bad time," she teased.  

"Early or late _Law and Order_?" he asked with interest.

"Kind of mixed.  I've seen Logan and Briscoe and Briscoe and Curtis and two different ADAs too.  I think it's a fan favorites marathons, so it's going to be all over the place."

"Nice.  I grew up with Briscoe.  When he left the show, it just felt...like something was off, you know?"

Clarke nodded.  "I hear you, even though I think he left the show when I was still pretty little."

"Yeah, well."  Bellamy cleared his throat.  "So, any thoughts about how we got together?"

She bit her lip as she considered.  "Why not stick to something close to the truth?  We heard about each other through Octavia, but didn't meet until her graduation.  We ended up in an argument all night and then later, apologized to each other?"

He cocked his head.  "Well, I think I sent you flowers the next week with a message like, 'Sorry I was a dickhead seven days ago.'"  He grinned.  "And they were your favorites, because O knew what you liked.  Which are what, by the way?"

"Oh, so you're the magnanimous one?"  Clarke chuckled, accepting that with a slight nod.  "Tulips are my favorites, usually, but there are days when I really just love lilies."

"I picked the first fight, I made the first peace offering, I'd say," Bellamy corrected with a smile.  

He looked really good when he smiled.

"Okay," she allowed.  "And then when I got this bouquet, I got your number from Octavia, because I insisted on thanking you."

"And we ended just talking for awhile."

She nodded quickly.  "Yeah, first about Octavia, then about other things.  And then I asked you out for a proper meal, the next time you were in town."

"What?"  Bellamy exclaimed.  "You asked me?"

"You were so nervous, it was clear where you were headed and I just threw you a bone," Clarke explained with a wide grin.

"I see how it is," he told her wryly.  "Okay, fine.  So I showed up the next weekend in Chicago with another bouquet and-"

"And we went to my favorite takeout place and got food to eat in the little neighborhood park near my apartment," she finished.  

"Sounds like a wonderful first date."  Bellamy gave her another small smile.  

"Right?" Clarke agreed, sitting back against the cushions. This was so much easier than she thought it would be. "So then, we start long distance dating, mostly calls and chats and texts, and we see each other when we can, usually weekends."

"And then I deploy," he interjected.

"And while you're deployed, I decided to finally listen to your sister and move to the area, because it's a great place to live."

"And I'm nearby.  Or will be, eventually."  He smirked at this, and for a moment, looked exactly like the photo on her desk at work.

"Technically correct," she grudgingly admitted.

"The best kind of correct," he seemed to reply automatically, making her laugh.

"I love _Futurama_ ," she agreed and the conversation soon segued into a comparisons of their favorite shows and movies they just had to stop and watch then they found them on TV.

" _While You Were Sleeping_ ," she told him.  "I just..love that movie.  It's funnier than it has a right to be.   _Last of the Mohicans_ for sure, when it's on IFC.  Oh, and _Pacific Rim_ , lately."

" _The Godfather_ for me.  All of them, even the third.  But especially the first or the second.  I just can't flip past them."

They talked about Octavia and Lincoln, and their plan to live in their little, two bedroom tiny house with a great view while they saved up to buy a real house of their own.  Clarke spoke about the friends she had made in the area, though noted she's pretty comfortable in her own company most of the time and Bellamy told her about the guys he was closest to in his unit.

Before they knew it, they had been talking to each other for well over an hour.

"Oh, I've got to get to bed," Bellamy said, looking sheepish as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Yeah, I should probably do something more productive than watch TV all day.  Uh, sleep well," Clarke replied.  "And thanks again, for doing this whole thing."

"I told you, it's my penance for being a dick a couple years ago."

Clarke raised a brow.  "So what you're telling me is that you hang onto things for a crazy long time?"

"Yeah, I guess I do.  Good night, Clarke."

"Good night, Bellamy."

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Clarke in the middle of trying to decipher the conflicting instructions for her next project when one of the receptionists interrupted.  Maggie was an older woman who mothered the entire department without regard to age or position.

"Excuse me, Clarke?" Clarke turned at the sound of Maggie's voice only to see her carrying a vase with a large array of tulips in white and pale yellow and golden yellow and lilac and a deep shade of purple.  

"Are they for me?" she asked, somewhat dumbfounded as Maggie handed them over carefully.

"Of course they are, dear!  Otherwise, I'd have kept them for myself!" the woman teased.  "Can I guess who they're from?"  she asked as Clarke set down the vase gingerly on her desk.

"Um, yes?" Clarke replied, gently pulling the small card from the holder.  She couldn't help the smile that came to her face at the message inside.

 

_Sorry I was a dickhead seven hundred and fifty-nine days ago. - Bellamy_

 

"It's from your boyfriend, isn't it?" Maggie asked slyly.

Clarke looked up and she knew her cheeks were red.  "Um, yes, it is."  She glanced at the picture on her desk and shook her head.  "He's a goofball."

"How long have you been together?"

Chuckling and eyeing the note in her hand, "Seven hundred and fifty-nine days, apparently."

Maggie had a small, confused smile on her face, so Clarke explained, very roughly, the fake story they'd come up with on Sunday.  Watching the woman's face, she was relieved that Maggie found it all plausible.

"Sounds like a keeper, that one."

"I guess so," Clarke agreed, noticing Tom eyeing the flowers as he passed her desk.  

When she managed to sit down again, she reached for her phone and loaded up the Skype app to tap a quick message to him.  She wasn't sure when he was going to see it, but she felt she had to write it immediately.

 

_Thank you for the flowers.  They were lovely.  It was absolutely unnecessary but very nice._

 

His reply came a little over an hour later and she grabbed for her phone the instant it buzzed with an incoming message.

 

_You said you're a terrible liar, so this way you won't be lying when you say I sent you flowers to apologize. :)_

 

_Are you at work right now?_

 

Flushing some, she typed out a reply.

 

_Yes.  You?  Or on duty, I suppose is the right term._

 

_Done for the day.  I won't keep you distracted though.  Glad you liked the flowers!_

 

_Seriously, they're gorgeous._

 

Clarke snapped a quick picture to send to him, then grinned down at his reply.

 

_I specified only extremely gorgeous flowers.  Glad they got that right.  Now go back to work!  I don't want you in trouble at the job before my command performance next month. ;)_

 

_I don't take orders from you, Sergeant. ;)_

 

_Alas, I have to be respectful to civilians, otherwise I'd say something about that..._

 

Clarke smiled to herself, wondering about a guy who used "alas" in a text conversation, but dutifully put aside her phone and tried to get back to work.

That was the beginning of their nearly everyday chats, usually around her lunch break when he'd be off-duty.  Via Skype chat or sometimes on Google Hangouts, they talked about everything and nothing.  The things she liked best about Colorado (the mountains and the weather), the things he disliked most about Germany (everything he really wanted to see in Europe was further south, so close and yet so far), why his screen name was bbblake9 (initials, last name, jersey number in high school), how much she enjoyed working in a job where both the things she studied in school came into play (biology and art).  

On the weekends, when she could actually call him in the middle of the day, they would talk longer and about more important things.

She learned that his love of books came from the escape they'd afforded him as a boy.

"You know, we didn't have money.  We never went anywhere.   Living where we did, it was hard enough to make ends meet, and didn't all the time.  But books, the library?  Yeah, I could always go there, or read about a place and go there in my mind," Bellamy explained one day.  "I could go to the past, or the future.  Learn about people who had it harder than I did.  Imagine myself to be whoever, whatever I wanted to be."

He learned that she was addicted to multi-tasking.

"I think it comes from when I was a kid, trying to get the best grades, do all the extracurriculars, be the perfect daughter.  If I had a moment to breathe, it meant I wasn't doing something that could improve myself.  And even later, when I figured out no, I didn't want to go to med school, and no, it wasn't healthy to be that way, I get antsy when I'm only doing one thing if that thing isn't productive.  So, like, when I watch TV, I have to do something else, even if it's just sketching or making lists or folding laundry."  Clarke held up a sketch she'd just done while they'd been talking of a couple of trees.  "See?  I can't be sort of idle."

She learned that he taught himself how to cook to make their food budget go further when he was a kid.

"Mom left me in charge of O all the time and I was pretty little, so she'd buy prepared food or takeout or whatever.  But money was tight, so when I was nine, I convinced her we needed to buy ingredients instead, so we'd have enough to eat.  I used some books at the library, of course, and watched some PBS shows to get the hang of it, but by the time I was ten, yeah, I pretty much knew how to cook.  Got a lot better at it when I got older, of course," Bellamy acknowledged.  "You know, and could cook at a stove without being on a stepstool."

He learned that she felt guilty every time she looked at her inheritance.  

"All I see when I get the statements from the bank is that I have this money because my father is dead.  I write checks every month to charities in his name, but I feel bad because I won't just give it all away, because I'm worried one day I might need it.  It's my security blanket, my guilty security blanket," she admitted quietly.

She learned that he didn't really like being in the Army, but it had provided him with a means of supporting himself and his sister so he was grateful it had been option.

"Also the GI Bill means I could afford college.  I think that's been my dream for so long, to go to a place where you're supposed to be reading books all day and arguing about biases and writing papers.  I think it's just hard, to make a change, when you've been doing one thing for so long."

He learned she didn't open up much even to the people closest to her.

"I mean, for so long, I had my Dad and I had Wells, and didn't make sense to talk about all my stuff with other people.  But after they were gone-"  Clarke had to take a breath to steady herself.  "I found out that, like, I couldn't even start those conversations with other people.  Because they weren't my Dad.  They weren't Wells.  It felt wrong to tell people things they couldn't know."

Clarke didn't even realize just how much she was talking to him until one night when Octavia stopped by her house to drop off a key to her apartment so that Clarke could feed her cat while she and Lincoln went away for the weekend.

Octavia had barely gotten in the door before she smirked at her friend.  "What's going on with you and my brother?"

"What?" Clarke asked, retrieving her keys so she could put Octavia's immediately on her keyring.

"My brother asked me to forward you this video he sent me a couple years ago of him fooling around with a soccer ball.  What's up with that?"  Octavia leaned against the back of Clarke's couch, still wearing that smug expression.

"He was talking about his holding midfielder days, and I said something about his footwork, and he said he could prove it," she tried to explain, holding out her hand for the key.

As Octavia handed it over, she commented, "So, you're talking to my brother on the regular now?"

"Just like, chatting, once in awhile.  I mean, he's doing me a favor, so yeah, we talk," Clarke defended herself.   If "once in awhile" meant almost everyday.

When her visitor raised a brow, Clarke tried to meet her with an impassive expression.

"Okay then."  Octavia stood straight.  "Told you he'd help you out."

"Yes, you were right.  He said he was just in a bad mood when you graduated and apologized for everything he said," Clarke readily acknowledged, only to watch as Octavia gaped at her.

"He _apologized_?"

"Uh, yeah, he said he gets into a temper when you do things like graduate…"  She couldn't figure out why Octavia was so surprised that her own brother, whom she was literally just championing, would be polite.

When Octavia started cackling, Clarke flushed.

"What?" she insisted.

"Oh, nothing.  Okay, babe, gotta run.  Thanks for feeding Xena."  Octavia added a knowing look to the end of her sentence, waved and headed out.

Two days later, Clarke got the video in an email from her friend.  She must have watched Bellamy dribbling and doing tricks with a soccer ball half a dozen times before she admitted to herself that this was not normal behavior.

That she might have a very real crush on her very fake boyfriend.

 

* * *

 

With equal parts anticipation and trepidation, Clarke watched as the calendar ticked down to Bellamy's arrival date.  Ever since she'd realized she had a burgeoning crush on him, she'd tried to keep their chats and calls shorter...and failed every time  in the attempt.

The problem was that Bellamy was interesting.  He was well-read, having a love for history and just books in general that bubbled to the surface in almost every conversation.  He also had a steady supply of ready opinions that she mostly agreed or happily argued with, and he told really bad jokes that were pretty much on her level of humor.  She tended to make the same kind of not-good jokes and it was comforting to find someone else like her.

But there had also been something nice about him being on a different continent.  When he was safely thousands of miles away from her, it had been so easy being completely honest.  Even if they were on a Skype, it felt so natural to tell him personal details, like how she still missed her father terribly or itched to call Wells when she had a bad day or used mac and cheese as a comfort food even though she hadn't really eaten it growing up.  

And he was reciprocating, telling her about naming Octavia, teaching her to read, keeping her amused and finally just raising her outright when their mother passed away.  How he was grateful to the Army for giving him a stable job and a home in which to raise her, how Colorado Springs was a much better environment for her than East LA.

Clarke just wasn't sure it would be the same when they were face-to-face again.  Their one actual interaction had been a disaster.  Maybe it was only the distance between them that made them bearable to each other.

These were the very thoughts consuming her as she sat at her desk on work the day he was due to arrive.  She stared at his picture, wondering when she had decided he was smiling softly instead of smirking.

Darryl found her like that after about fifteen minutes.  "Clarke?"

She startled, whirling in her seat.  "Yes?"

"Didn't mean to sneak up on you like that," he noted apologetically.  He nodded at the picture.  "When's he due home?"

Clarke swallowed and pasted a smile on her face.  "Today, actually."

"Aren't you going to meet him there?"

"Ah, well, we thought it'd be silly for me to take a whole day when the weekend is here.  I mean, better to take the day when I really need it or can spend all of it with him, right?"  As was typical in their "relationship," Bellamy was the one to come up with the line as to why she wouldn't be meeting his bus.

Darryl frowned thoughtfully.  "When's his bus coming in?"

"Three o'clock."  Even if she hadn't found out from Bellamy himself, his sister couldn't stop talking about it.

He leaned forward conspiratorially and gave her a big grin.  "I'll tell you what, if you decide to skip out after lunch, say, ah, about now, I'll make sure the boss is okay with it."  

"Really?" she asked, heart leaping at the prospect before she reminded herself firmly that Bellamy was not, in fact, her boyfriend.  "Are you sure?" she continued.  "I mean, we have those deadlines and I don't want to make any more work for anyone else…"

"Go on," he encouraged.  "A big welcome home means so much to them."

Feeling suddenly so guilty for deceiving him, Clarke smiled and blinked rapidly so that her eyes didn't fill.  "Thanks, Darryl.  I mean, I super appreciate it," she replied, turning in her seat to pull together her things and send a quick text to Octavia to see if she could catch a ride with her.

"Of course.  I understand what it means to be separated from a loved one for months at a time while he's serving his country."  He grinned, obviously pleased that he was doing her such a big favor.  "Have a good weekend."

"I'm sure I will!"  

Clarke was immediately enveloped in the adrenaline rush of trying to make sure she got to Octavia's in time to get a ride to the base.  Only when she was in the back of Lincoln's SUV did she have a moment to realize that Bellamy himself had no idea she was coming.  She gnawed on her thumb nervously, trying to decide if Octavia let her tag along out of politeness or if she had just invited herself to a family event she had no business attending.

As if reading her thoughts, Lincoln eyed her in the rearview mirror.  "He's going to be happy to see you," he assured her in his deep, comforting voice.

"You don't think he's sick of blond-haired, blue-eyed woman?" she joked uneasily, only to receive a snort from Octavia who turned in her seat to shake her head at Clarke.

"Come on.  Bell's willingly spoken to you more than once.  He likes you."

Clarke licked her lips as she forcibly pulled her hand away from her mouth.  "Really?  That's how you know he likes someone?"

"Pretty much.  Bell doesn't talk to people unless he has to usually."

"But he's so good at it."

Octavia snorted.  "Tell me about it.  Did he ever tell you that he was voted Class President his senior year of high school?  He didn't even run.  He was a write-in candidate, all because he gave a speech in the cafeteria about how the student council was ignoring the unpopular clubs to support only the stuff the popular kids liked."

"Who did he like so much he did that?" Clarke asked in amusement.  For some reason, she could easily see him standing on a cafeteria table and giving an impassioned speech about disenfranchised students.

"He just got all indignant when the Student Council wouldn't give the forensics team the money they needed to go to the state tournament."   Octavia grinned.  "The best part?  He wasn't even really _on_ the debate team.  He was one of the judges, because the rules for the league said that for every two debaters you had in a meet, you had to put in one judge and upper classmen would count.  Bell didn't have time to do all the prep and the practices, but he could go to the meets to be a judge."

"I can definitely see him judging people," Clarke agreed dryly.

"He was great at it, so much so that after he graduated, the league asked him to keep on judging in his free time.  He was one of the few judges who, like, actually wrote out a real critique, telling the people what they did well and what they needed to work on.  Oh, and he used the point system.  So many of the judges were lazy, and would give the winner full points and the loser just one point less.  But he gave them like actual scores, so the wins really meant something."

"Did he do it?  Keep on judging?"

Octavia shook her head.  "Nah.  By then it was clear that Mom wasn't doing so hot and he didn't want to commit to anything like that."  She smiled sadly at the memory.  "He joined the Army soon after, for the enlistment bonus to help Mom, and to make sure he had a steady job and all that in case he needed to take custody.  Which, you know, he did."

Clarke reached out to touch her friend's shoulder comfortingly.  "He's been so selfless."

"He has."  Octavia straightened suddenly and chuckled.  "And he'll tell you _all_ about it if you let him."

"He's coming home today.  I'm pretty sure I'm going to let him talk about whatever he wants," Clarke agreed and turned her head to look out the window, missing the look that Lincoln and Octavia exchanged.

Before she knew it, they were pulling up to the Special Events Center at Fort Carson.  As she got out of the car, she watched all the other visitors hurrying excitedly into the huge building, wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, children and siblings.  Feeling very much like a fraud, she smoothed down her vividly blue skirt and glanced down at her white, sleeveless blouse.  She hadn't had time to change from work and only belatedly checked herself for stray pen marks.

"You look great," Octavia cut into her inspection.  She herself looked pretty damned good in a nice pair of jeans, a simple crimson top and a killer pair of boots.  

"Just making sure I didn't make a mess of myself as usual," Clarke explained as Octavia hooked their arms together to lead her inside.

"I always think of you as artfully disheveled."  Octavia leaned a little closer as they moved through the doors. "Don't worry.  You look great and you have nothing to be nervous about."

Clarke gave a wavering chuckle in reply.  "I'm super obvious, right?  I just feel like I'm intruding," she murmured in reply, gaze wandering about taking in the happy families.

"Nah.  You've been talking to him for weeks, he'll be thrilled you're here," Octavia dismissed all this with a wave.   

When the first cry of, "They're coming!" sounded, a wave of excitement ran through the crowd.  Octavia moved away from her friend, eagerly moving forward to into a better position in the front, leaving Clarke next to Lincoln.  

Soon, a door opened, and uniformed soldiers marched in, lining up in equal rows.  They held formation until someone called, "Company, fall out!" and then pandemonium seemed to reign for a moment as kids were allowed to run to their returning parents.  Clarke smiled widely, watching children and loved one hurl themselves into soldier's arms, offering hugs and cards and balloons in welcome.

Straining to see around all the reunions, she finally spied Bellamy moving through the crowd to reach his sister.  As soon as she spotted him, Clarke pulled on Lincoln's sleeve and pointed him out so they could move closer.  But of course, Octavia got to him first, practically launching herself at her brother with a wordless cry.

Bellamy enveloped his sister in a hug, one arm curling around her waist and the other around her back, leaving his hand on her neck.  The paternal nature of the gesture, seeing the kind of hug Clarke used to get from her own father, struck her so forcefully she almost had to take a step back.  She knew that Bellamy had functioned more as a father to Octavia than a brother, but knowing that and really _seeing_ it were two entirely different things.

His eyes were closed for the first few seconds of their hug, but Bellamy soon looked past his sister.  His gaze locked with Clarke's and they both seemed frozen in the moment.  For Clarke, she couldn't help but wonder if this was the first time she was really seeing him, seeing the core of who he was and what he cared about, instead of the paternalistic show he put on the world.

Something about the way he stared back at her made her wonder if he was really seeing her for the first time too.

Soon, he moved onto Lincoln.  Both men clapped each other on the shoulder before hugging, in what Clarke was sure was a well-practiced ritual.  She knew from Octavia that Bellamy had taken some time to warm up to her boyfriend, but once he realized how serious the older man was about her, he'd treated him like a brother ever since.

When he pulled back from Lincoln, he paused before approaching Clarke.  After a moment's awkwardness, he stuck out a hand and she shook it, watching as her own hand practically disappeared into his.  

Clarke felt tingles move throughout her body as soon as they touched.  His handshake was firm, warm, and she felt every moment of his roughened fingers as they slid into and out of her grasp.  She sucked in a breath, watching his face carefully as he examined her own.  He spoke first as he dropped her hand.

"It's ah, good of you to come.  Unexpected," he hazarded.

Clarke flushed slightly, but kept her chin up.  "My boss, when he figured out today was the day you came back, insisted I take the day without charging me the P.T.O. time.  Hard to pass up."

Bellamy raised a brow, even as he put an arm around Octavia's shoulders as she came up beside him.  "Nice to see you're getting something out of this whole thing," he drawled.

"Well, I am paying for your welcome home dinner, because it's the least I can do," Clarke admitted.  That was something she'd insisted on the day before, demanding a list of ingredients from Lincoln and rushing out to get everything for his special meal immediately.

"Wait, what?"  Bellamy glanced over his shoulder.  "You're not cooking?"

"I am," Lincoln rumbled, picking up Bellamy's duffel and slinging it over his back.  "But Clarke paid for all the food, got me the best ingredients."

"Thanks," Bellamy said warmly, genuinely, returning his dark gaze to her.  "I've been looking forward to Lincoln's cooking for a while now."

Before she could reply, he was tackled into another sidehug from his sister.  Immediately beaming, he turned back towards her.  

"Come on, big brother!  Let's get you home," she told him, already grabbing at his hand to pull him towards the exit.  

Clarke trailed the siblings by Lincoln's side with a small smile on her face.  The taller man glanced at her, telling her quietly, "They're always like this when they're first together again.  But one of them will pick a fight later.  They can't be in each other's company for more than a few hours without being loggerheads at something."

"Because he's basically her parent?" she asked, wanting confirmation for her earlier realization.

Lincoln chuckled.  "Basically.  Bellamy did the best he could and he was great at a lot of it, but Octavia's definitely got some of the characteristics of being raised by a teenager.  Damaged him too," he added.  "Too much of his life revolved around Octavia.  I think that's why he's talking about the Army again.  Gives him something he can build his life around."

Clarke pondered over all this as they piled into the car, with the Blake siblings in the backseat so that Octavia could continue to monopolize Bellamy's attention.  Watching them surreptitiously in the mirror, she felt a surge of renewed grief for her father and for Wells, the closest thing she'd had to a sibling of her own.   Blinking away tears, she forced herself to watch the passing scenery.

When they were back at Lincoln and Octavia's, with Lincoln already grilling the flank steak and shrimp, Octavia finally let someone else get a word in edgewise with Bellamy.  Clarke found herself sitting across from him at the table on the deck while he gave her a small smile over the neck of his beer.

"Really didn't expect you," he told her again.

"I didn't want to intrude on your family time, but when my boss said I could go, I felt guilty about this whole thing and I didn't want to lie to him more than I'm already lying?" Clarke tried to explain, wincing.  "I'm so not good at this."

"You really aren't," he agreed with a laugh.  "I'm glad you came.  How's work otherwise?  Creepy Dude is not a problem anymore, right?"

"Oh yeah.  I'm dating a soldier and he's a 'Good Guy,'" she said, using air quotes.  "So I'm officially off-limits."   She snorted.  "Maybe I should have just confronted him, then you wouldn't have to bother with all this."

"I'm all for confrontation," he began, only to scowl at his sister as she laughed when she joined them at the table with the salad.  "But not necessarily in these situations.  Too often right now, a woman who reports harassment just gets the company involved in harassing her otherwise."

Clarke took a long sip of her beer before answering.  "Well, thanks again."  Trying to change the subject, she asked, "So did you learn anything awesome about Germany you're dying to tell us?"

He chuckled, shaking his head.  "No?  It sounds awful but you know, I didn't get any real leave time over there.  We were busy with our mission."

"Which was?"  Clarke asked, realizing she actually didn't know.

Bellamy gave her a wry smile.  "The only thing I'm allowed to say about it is counter-terrorism work.  But it wasn't deployment in a war zone, so that's something."

"And soon all of that will be over and done with and you can let you hair grow out to a normal length," Octavia said with a firm nod as Lincoln dropped off the cooked shrimp.

"I'm going to take off the steak soon, let it rest a moment then cut it and we can really get into these tacos," the chef explained.  "But you can start on the shrimp now."

"I think we can wait a few minutes for you to join us," Bellamy allowed, giving his sister an indulgent smile.  "We've got time."

Over the course of the meal, Clarke relaxed, happy to discover that the Bellamy she'd gotten to know over the past month or so was the real Bellamy.  By the time she put together her second taco, she felt easy in his company, being at the table with him and his family.  Everyone spoke easily, swapping stories and having a good time.

The mood only turned when she returned to the deck with the small chocolate fantasy cake she'd picked up from the bakery the previous day for him.  Clarke and Lincoln had cleared the table and in the five or so minutes they had been gone, an argument had started between the siblings.

"I can't believe you," Octavia was saying as Clarke and Lincoln walked back onto the deck with the cake and clean plates.

"O," Bellamy began, his voice aggrieved.  "This just makes the most sense right now, okay?  Going to school in the hopes that there's a job for me at the end of it just doesn't make sense.  With the Army, I'm staying trained and I'm getting paid to do it."

"No, you're staying in a job you don't really like, putting yourself at risk and you know, conveniently staying away from me for long periods of time," Octavia retorted, pushing to her feet and slamming her hand on the table.  

Bellamy frowned at her, but didn't stand in response.  "Look, it's like Pike says-"

"Pike!  Since when are you listening to Pike?!  He's a lifer.  He's going to put in the max and even then probably beg them to let him stay," she accused.  "He loves the Army, the Army life.  But you don't!"

"How am I going to support myself while I'm in college?  Or looking for a job?" Bellamy answered, heedless of Clarke asking Lincoln silently if they should intervene and his answering sake of his head.  

"You have savings, and you-"

"No, after that.  You know, Murphy found some chick while we were in Germany and they're getting married, if you can believe it, and so the person I was going to get an apartment with isn't going to be there anymore.  I will blow through my savings so fast and I can't justify spending a lot of time and money on something when I don't know what the outcome is going to be!" he insisted.

"There aren't guarantees in life, Bell-"

"Well, there are in the Army," he retorted.

"Fine then.  Go in the Army.  Get deployed to another war with crappy weapons and crappy armor, see if I care!" she shouted at him before pushing past Lincoln and storming into the house.   The big man just put down the plates he was holding and hurried after her.

Bellamy gritted his teeth and got his feet, glancing at Clarke fleetingly before making his way to the railing and staring out at the horizon.  She could see his jaw working, and after a moment's hesitation, put down the cake on the table and walked over to stand by him.  

She looked out over the landscape, offering, "They have a great view.  At my place, there's this really nice covered patio, but the view is just the backside of other people's houses."

He took a moment but eventually replied, "I guess you'd sketch this at some point.  Or paint it."

"Probably."  Clarke nodded slightly before eyeing him.  "Are you okay?" she asked.

Bellamy gave her a terse nod.  "I knew it was coming.  Didn't think we'd have the argument as soon as I got home, but well, I know we'd have the argument."

"When did you decide?" she ventured.  "I mean, last we spoke about it, you seemed like you were really leaning towards going to school.  You sounded all but convinced that's the way you were going to go."

Bellamy sighed.  "Well, first Murphy found himself a wife, apparently.  I don't know much about this Emori person.  We met her and honestly, I kind of got a 'trying-for-a-green-card' vibe from her, but Murphy thinks she's great.  Hell, he doesn't even disagree about the green card thing, but he's decided he's fine with it, if it means he gets to be with her for awhile.  She's really got him."

He shook his head, ridding himself of the tangent.  "Anyway, we were going to find a place together.  He's an ass, but I'm pretty used to him and he's used to me.  But that's not going to happen anymore.  So basically, all my housing allowance under the GI bill would be for everything unless I got a job on the side too.  And I was thinking, so I'll be a full-time student, working at least part-time, and for what?  What will I have at the end?"

"I always thought I wanted to be a teacher, but I see what teachers are going through right now.  Lots of younger folks with education degrees trying to break into a school district, meanwhile parents are upset at how much they're getting paid or protesting the fact they get health benefits.  Or if I go academia, it's a real long shot now to get a job that isn't an adjunct position somewhere.   I don't think I could work my tail off for four years or six or seven or more with that kind of uncertainty."

Clarke nodded, understanding.  "I get that.  But, you know, college is a risk for everyone.  And I think you'd have a much better time of it than most everyone else, since you'd be going into it eyes wide open.  Sometimes, you have take the risk to stay true to yourself, you know?"

"Look, Prin-"  Bellamy cut himself off, even as her eyes went wide.  

He took a deep breath to calm himself.  "Not everyone has a trust fund to turn to in case something doesn't work out," he bit out.  "If I just go to college, that's a risk, there's no fall back position for me.  I need to know I'd be able to support myself at the end of that."

Clarke held tightly to the reins of her anger, which flashed at his insinuation.  Worse, he hit her where she was most vulnerable.  But he had just come home and despite his dig at her privileged background, she understood he was just lashing out as he usually did when he was frightened of something.

Oh, how far they'd come in six weeks.

"I've told you a bit about how I grew up, how O grew up.  Our mother didn't really have the means to support us and we had plenty of times where we worried if we were going to have a roof over our heads or food to eat.  I can't.."  He stopped, trying to marshal his words.  "I can't just jump and not know I'll have a means to support myself at the end of the day.  I don't have a fallback position so I know I won't end up on the streets."  He gripped the railing tightly for a moment before he looked at her again.  

"With the Army, I have a job.  Another ten years in, I'll have a pension to go with it.  Then, I'll have something of a fallback position.  So, this isn't saying no to college.  This is saying it's safer to do it later.  I mean, college isn't going anywhere, right?"

Clarke nodded dully.  She understood.  She didn't like it, didn't like it for his sake or for Octavia's or even her own, but she understood his thinking.

"I know O hates it, but.  This is safest," he finished resolutely.

"Right," she murmured, suddenly feeling so drained and tense at the same time.  "Uh, I'm going to just check on her, on them," she said, turning to walk back into the house.

Eventually, they got back to sitting at the table, though they ate the cake with considerably less conversation than they'd had over dinner.  Of course, Bellamy's decision to return to the Army was firmly off limits, but it was still hard to recapture the same camaraderie.  Even when they adjourned to the lounge chairs by themselves to sit and watch the sunset while Lincoln and Octavia cleaned up, everything seemed stilted.  Finally, they just gave up trying to talk, leaving Clarke wondering if they could ever find that something they'd had when they were talking over the internet.

But she decided that she didn't quite believe that the version of Bellamy she'd gotten to know was gone, a figment of the distance between them.  So she started trying to talk again, eyes fixed on the colors spilling out in the sky.

"Sometimes when I'm mixing paints, this is what I see.  The way the colors streak and are separate before they slowly bleed into each other?" she described, waving a hand to indicate all the oranges, purples and pinks.  "Or the way a body of water, one that has a lot of life in it, has all the greens and blues and browns with hints of white or copper in it?"

"Yeah?" Bellamy turned his head to peer at her.  

"Yeah, definitely.  You know how you said books were your escape?  I think drawing and painting and sketching were mine.  If I could picture something, if I could focus on making that picture real, it always helped me deal better with the now of my life.  So when I'm mixing paints and I see those little pictures in my head, I don't know, it's like, even then, I'm using my art to just..transport myself for a second."  She frowned.  "I don't think I've explained it very well."

"I think you have," he disagreed smilingly.  "I understand."

Clarke watched him watching her, how the dying sunlight warmed his features she was so used to seeing washed out by a computer's glare.  All at once, he said, "I've thought about you painting.  I figured you're a bit messy about it, but that's just because you're too distracted to worry about keeping anything clean.  You said it's the one place you don't have to multi-task, right?"  He smiled.  "Though, props for being pretty normal during dinner," he teased.

And just like that, it was back to what they had.  "Thanks," she said laughingly.  "I try."

They talked for a time about the movies they'd each missed in the theater in the past few months.  When Octavia and Lincoln joined them again, they started talking about their favorite movie series and what releases they were excited about coming up.

"What we should do is have like, Sunday dinners or whatever day, and watch some show together, something that's on Netflix or Hulu that we all haven't seen," Octavia suggested.  

"She's horrible to watch stuff with, always talking," Bellamy told Clarke as an aside.

"Oh, I know.  Heckling their decisions, making jokes," Clarke agreed with a wide smile.  "I kind of like it, to tell the truth.  It's like watching a significantly less funny version of Mystery Science Theater," she added, only to duck as Octavia took a weak swipe at her.

"Seriously, though," the younger Blake continued plaintively.  

"As long as it worked around our schedule, and I didn't have to cook every time," Lincoln agreed readily, giving Bellamy a significant look.

"I can cook half the time," he offered, raising his beer in salute.

"I can pay for take out some of the time?" Clarke suggested, getting a grin from Octavia.

"Excellent.  Family dinner and watching TV night.  Just have to decide on the show," Octavia continued, happy as always to get her way.  

Of course, that discussion lasted much longer and still they hadn't agreed on a show nearly an hour later.  "Can we put a pin in it for now?" Clarke asked after looking at the time.  "I need to get home before I fall asleep behind the wheel."

"I'll see you to the door."  With another couple of beers in him, Bellamy's voice had taken a very nice gravelly turn, something Clarke appreciated more than she felt she should.  Nor did she mind the peek of his abs as he got to his feet and stretched briefly.  

She said her goodbyes to Octavia and Lincoln, thanking them for the meal, and walked back into the house to exit through the front door.  Uniquely conscious of Bellamy's proximity to her as she walked and the rising flush on her cheeks, she gave a small sigh of relief as soon as she could yank the door open and let in the somewhat cooler night air.

"Thanks again, Clarke, for coming and for dinner," Bellamy rumbled behind her.

Turning, she lifted her head and gave him what she hoped looked like a small, friendly smile.  "Of course.  Like I said, least I could do since you're helping me out next weekend."

He nodded quickly.  "About that, uh, where is it?  I mean, you called it a picnic, but I don't know where or what time or anything."

"Oh, right, you would probably need those details.  Not like you have the whole day blocked off to waste with me, right?"  Clarke mentally chided herself as she babbled, pulling her phone from her purse to get the detail from the email work sent out a couple of months ago.  As she scrolled, trying to find the information, she heard him shift and saw him lean against the doorway out of the corner of her eye.

"Looks like it's Cheyenne Mountain Park at noon until four at something called the Prairie Skipper Group Picnic Pavilion," she read out.  "Or, you know, I could just forward you this email," she added dryly.  

"Thanks," he chuckled, watching her intently.  

After she send him the email and put away her phone, her gaze locked with his again.  His eyes seemed darker now and for a moment, his lids almost fluttered as he looked at her lips.  She returned the favor, traces the curves of his mouth with her eyes and unconsciously licked her lips in anticipation.

Clarke felt herself sway towards him, but at the last moment, Bellamy's arms just came around her in a hug.  Propping her chin on his shoulder, she slipped her arms around him and squeezed him tight.

"I'm so glad you're home, Bell," she told him in a near whisper.

"Glad to be home," he replied, face turning into her neck so that she could literally feel the words against her skin as he spoke.

A passing car's headlights streaked across the front of the house and they reluctantly broke apart.

"Drive safe," he told her, suddenly stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Clarke nodded hastily, knowing she was blushing.  "I will.  See you soon."  She hurried off to her car, wondering if Bellamy knew how close she had been to kissing him.

 

* * *

 

Now that Bellamy was back in the States, back home, Clarke ironically spoke to him less.  They texted now, instead of messaged, but it was much more infrequent.   She thought he might be thinking better of their arrangement, now that he'd seen her and had been reminded of how close she was to his sister.  But then he'd texted on Wednesday that he was swamped with getting back into the rhythm of life at home, as well as jetlagged.

 

_But I'll be there on time for Saturday._

 

Clarke bit her lip before texting a reply.

 

_I thought I could pick you up._

 

_Nah.  I know where Cheyenne Mountain Park is and even where that Pavilion is where they're holding it.  I can pick you up._

 

_Okay.  Picnic's at noon, so maybe pick me up a half hour before?_

 

_Sounds good.  See you then._

 

Still, she was beyond distracted at work, constantly eyeing his picture and wondering what he was up to, worrying about his decision to reenlist.  Clarke had gotten to know what she thought of the Real Bellamy so well in the past few weeks, his decision, as much as she understood, just didn't sit right with her.  She couldn't shake the feeling that he was making a mistake, that he was locking himself into a course of action that he'd regret, over fear.  

By Friday, she'd had enough of her distraction.  Before she realized exactly what she was doing, she turned to her computer and started looking up information, making notes and jotting facts and figures on a notepad.  She continued when she got home that night, eventually making a rough outline of her plan and talking herself through what she wanted to say to Bellamy the next day.

When the day of the picnic finally arrived, Clarke woke up to her alarm and felt wide awake, the way she normally did on the morning of a big exam.  She went through the motions of her morning, making coffee and eating some cereal, but was engrossed in going over her notes.  She tried practicing some turns of phrase when she was in the shower, mumbling to herself as she dried herself off and trying to decide if she should use hand gestures as she got dressed.  

Soon enough, her phone buzzed with a message from Bellamy saying he would be there in fifteen minutes.  Tamping down her bubbling nerves, she put the finishing touches on her hair and looked herself over in the full-length mirror.  

A couple of weeks ago, Clarke had found a cute little skirt with purple, gold and lavender flowers on a white background.  She immediately bought it, since it reminded her so much of the flowers he'd gotten for her.  She paired it with a soft purple v-necked t-shirt and a pair of flat gladiator sandals, then pulled her hair back into a soft braid that had just the right amount of tendrils to frame her face.  She thought she'd nailed the company picnic look - nice without looking too dressed up.

Still, with more than a usual case of nerves, she opened her front door after hearing the doorbell ring.      

Bellamy stood there in a pair of tan cargo short and a blue t-shirt, both of which looked pressed.  He had his car keys in one hand and a small bouquet of lilies in his other.  He took a moment, letting his gaze trail over her before offering her a smile.

"Wow, you look amazing."

Flushing, she reciprocated.  "So do you look.  You look good out of uniform, Sergeant," she complimented.  Glancing at the flowers, she asked, "Are those for me?"

He nodded, handing them over, and then stepping inside her house at her waved invitation.  "You said lilies were your other favorite, so."  He shrugged, seeming shy.

"These are lovely. Thank you so much.  You didn't have to, you know.  This isn't a."  She paused, then finished.  "A real date."  As much as she'd like it to be.  

Bellamy cleared his throat.  "Yeah, about that," he began in a tone that made her look at him with wide eyes.

"So, I was thinking about how you're not so good with lies.  I thought, maybe, you know, maybe you would like to go out with me sometime.  Sometimes, really.  I don't know about you, but I hope that, uh, like me, you feel like we've gotten really close lately.  Honestly, I feel more open with you than I have with my past girlfriends, and well, I'd like to see if we could make something of this.  Then you wouldn't have to be lying about my being your boyfriend today.  Because I would be."

By the time he finished speaking, all the way looking at her so hopefully, a huge smile had bloomed on her face.  She could feel her cheeks actually aching from her grin, but couldn't stop, not when he said so much of what she'd been thinking.

"Yes.  Yes, I'd like that very much," she agreed.

The smile on his face, the half-shy, half-overjoyed look, sent a shiver of delight down her spine.  "Yeah?  Well, then, the flowers were definitely necessary because this is definitely a date."

"Oh, good," she breathed, even as he stepped closer.  Clarke placed a hand on his arm, glancing at his lips and smiled.  "Please tell me you're about to kiss me right now."

"Oh yeah," he agreed, sounding a little breathless himself.  Gently, he reached up to cup her face and bent his neck.  

The first touch of his lips to hers was soft, the kiss light and loving.  But then, oh so carefully, he opened his mouth and coaxed hers open with the delicate swipe of his tongue, and soon she lost herself in the kiss, in the sensation of touching and tasting him, in the wave of heat that rolled through her.  Of the very rightness of the moment.

When they finally pulled apart, she saw that they were wearing mirrored smiles, and she expected that her pupils had blown as wide as his.

"Wow," she complimented him.

"Likewise," he replied, voice low and hot.

The crinkle of cellophane sounded as she tightened her grip on the flowers, reminding them both of their presence.

"Let me put them in some water real quick," she told, chuckling slightly.  It would also give them a chance to cool off.  

At his nod, she hurried into the kitchen, pulling out the vase from his previous flowers and putting the lilies in them.  She set this on the counter, then looked over at him, where he was admiring one of her paintings on the wall.

"It's one of my favorites," she told him as she came up behind him.  A watercolor of her mother, Clarke felt the painting had perfectly captured how Abby Griffin really was, a woman with a slight smile on her lips and a faraway look in her eye, always thinking about the next task ahead and rarely giving herself more than a moment to enjoy the current triumph.

"This is your mother, right?  She must be so proud of you, with all this talent," he answered, turning to smile down at her.  

"We've had our share of arguments, but yeah, I think most days, she's pretty proud of me," Clarke acknowledged softly.  "I'm supposed to call her later, let her know how the picnic went."

Bellamy blinked.  "Did you, ah, tell her about Creepy Guy and the whole fake boyfriend thing?"

"No, just that I was nervous about the whole work outing thing.  Not so nervous anymore," she added, happy to provoke another smile from him.  "But we should get going, if we don't want to be late."

"Right," he agreed with a quick nod.  But he held her hand as they walked from the house to his car, and after he was in the driver's seat and on the road, he reached out for her hand again.  

So pleased with the turn of the day's events, Clarke let herself revel in the feeling of her hand in his, of the contrast of their skin and the sweep of his thumb over the back of her hand.  It was only when they were almost at the park that she recalled all her careful planning, and her careful speech.

She turned over the words in her head, rehearsing them and trying to find a way to speak about it, but still hadn't managed to say a word about the whole subject when he pulled into a parking spot.  But she felt she couldn't wait until after the picnic either, so when he gave her a quick smile and moved to open his door, she blurted out, "Bellamy."

He turned to look at her, his hand on the handle of the door.

"Can I just say something before we go out there?" she asked in a rush.  When he nodded, his brow furrowing, she knew she had his full attention.

"I know you're worried about finding a job after you leave the Army.  But I also know how much you want to get a college degree and I know how much you'd enjoy it.  You're exactly the kind of person college is made for.  You'd love it, everything that everyone complain about?  You would love.  The studying, the reading, the writing of papers and challenging professors.  It's perfect for you."

Bellamy tensed as she spoke, a pained expression coming to his face.  When he opened his mouth to interrupt, she held up a hand.  

"Please, just let me finish."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before nodding.  "Yeah, okay," he rumbled.

"I think you should go to college, get that history degree or anthropology degree or whatever you want.  If you think you'd like to be a teacher maybe, college or not, maybe get an education minor.  Or, maybe computer science, so you can get a technical job.  Or, study business and marketing.  Or, I was thinking, you could go into library science?  You know, the University of Colorado at Denver has an online master's degree in library science, or you could go there for actual classes.  Or UNC, I saw they have a really good program."

"A librarian?" Bellamy questioned, looking suddenly intrigued.  

"Or an archivist, maybe?  I thought that would be a job that suits you."

He nodded slightly before cocking his head.  "Wait, how do you know about UNC's library science program?"

Clarke shrugged.  "I spend some time Googling, looking at different college options around here and their programs.  When I saw that University of Colorado had a library science master's program, I immediately thought of you, and then just started, you know, falling down the rabbit hole of clicking links."

"For me?"  Bellamy asked cautiously.

"Of course for you.  What you said last Friday, you know, it stuck with me.  I know it's important to Octavia that you stay local and the Army can't guarantee that, but you know, it's important to think about the things _you_ actually want for yourself in life.  If you really wanted to be in the Army for life, I would be all for it.  Maybe Octavia wouldn't be thrilled, but you know she'd support your decision.  But we can see how you do want to go to school, how you've always just looked at the Army as a way to pass the time and now, I think it's time you looked into doing what you want.

"I'm just saying, there are more options than just getting a degree and trying to find a teaching job.  There are so many options in college and I think you'd be good as a librarian, with how you love books and how you like finding information and preserving information."  Clarke smiled slowly, gaze drifting unseeingly as she pictured him working in a library.  "I mean, I could just see you running a library or a library system one day, making sure the students have the resources they need and putting together new programs, going all squinty as you look over the provenance of a old book collection or pushing up your glasses as you go over budgets."

When she looked over at him again, he seemed amused.  "Glasses?"

Clarke cleared her throat.  "It's a biological fact that the muscles of the eye weaken as we age and as we read more and more.  And if you're going to be a librarian especially, yeah, you know, glasses are probably a part of your future," she explained, flushing slightly.

"And you have a thing for glasses?" he hazarded a guess, a knowing smile on his face.

She chuckled and smiled bashfully, refusing to admit that he'd figured her out, before pushing ahead.  "I'm just saying, you know, that there are career options that maybe you haven't thought about before.  You should look into them."  She took another breath.  "And, you know, you said that you don't have a fallback position if things don't work out, but that's not true.  You have Octavia and Lincoln, and you have me too, you know.  You're not going to end up on the street or anything.  We're going to be there for you, even if there are some bumps in the road."

Bellamy looked down at the steering wheel.  "I, uh, I've got you too, huh?"

Blushing but resolute, Clarke reached out to rest a hand on his arm.  "Yeah, you do.  I think we've gotten sort of close in the past few weeks, with you helping me out.  I think we're friends, real friends, not just people who are dating each other, and I would never let any of my friends just go homeless or something.  I don't want you to think that the Army is your only option.  The Army's great, but if you want to do something else, I think you should it.  I think you do want to do something else, because you know, you don't love being in the Army.  You get excited over books and history and arguing, and while yeah, I'm sure the Army has some of that, I don't think it has what you really want."

"And if I look it all over, and still want to choose the Army?" he wondered, looking up at her through his lashes.  

"Then my boyfriend will be in the Army and I'll do whatever I can to support him."  Clarke smiled at him.  She probably wouldn't love it, but she was certain it wouldn't affect her feelings for him.  

Again, he smiled and leaned forward and she happily met him over the center console for another kiss.  

When he pulled back, he said, "Thank you, Clarke.  For thinking of me."

"I've been pretty much thinking about nothing except you for awhile," she admitted, ducking her head.  "But," she continued firmly.  "I'm still totally going to champion the college thing for you."

He laughed and nodded as he opened the door.  "I have no doubt about that."

When they were walking up to the pavilion, hand in hand, Bellamy added again, "Thank you.  For thinking about me." It was like he couldn't believe that someone not related to him would do so.

"Someone has to think about you.  You spend so much time thinking about others, it's time someone thought about you," Clarke replied warmly, squeezing his hand.  

"Clarke!" she heard Darryl call her name.  She shared another smile with Bellamy before greeting her boss as they walked up."  

"Bellamy," she introduced.  "This is my boss Darryl.  And Darryl, this Staff Sergeant Bellamy Blake."  She paused a beat, and added for the first time in complete honesty, "My boyfriend."


End file.
